Chained

Nine

As soon as my feet reach the top, I fall down. Something is pulling me into the floor and I moan. In the dim candlelight, I see something skitter across the floor.

It looks very much like a little man.

"Holy shit!"

I try to push myself backwards, but the heaviness of my body chains me down. I glance wildly around, trying to see where the little man went.

Michael stops at the last stair. "What is it?"

"I saw...it was..."

Nothing. Just my fucked up mind playing with me.

"Perhaps I should continue on without you, Jason Hill," Michael says.

That is enough for me to fight the chains of my own body and scramble up. I grip the banister, willing myself not to tumble down the stairs. "Hell no! I still don't trust you."

"A wise decision." Michael smiles slightly. "If only you exercised the same skepticism when you saw a young woman on the road in the middle of the night."

Nausea and confusion have been holding my anger at bay, but now it returns. "What kind of asshole would have just driven on?"

"Oh you would have been a bad person," Michael agrees. "Or perhaps a good person who felt guilt for the rest of your short, miserable life as you wondered about the woman on the road. But I do not believe that you were ready for this awakening. Regardless of what we find, I do not believe you will ever be happy again when I take Freddie from your life."

I push forward towards the bedroom. "Uh-huh. I'll be happy to never see either of you again as long as I live."

And I would be happy not to see the worms crawling from the walls. Little, wriggling bodies emerging from the wall, fading as soon as they fall to the floor.

A cold hand grabs my shoulder and turns me around. Michael's dark eyes pierce me. "Is that really what you want, Jason Hill?"

I swing at him, but again he moves with impossible speed. Or maybe the unnatural heaviness is weighing me down, making me impossibly slow.

"Yes!" I huff. "Let's just get this done."

Fear eats at me as I near my door. Part of me is sure that the skull man will be skulking inside, waiting to attack. But knowing that it's just a drug that's fucking with my mind, I step inside.

The mirror is still broken, but there is no skull man.

"Interesting." Michael holds the candle out, examining the damage. "This explains why you are all cut up and bloody."

I prepare to inform him that I am not cut up and bloody when I catch sight of my hands. Dried blood and abrasions marred my skin. The injuries should cause pain, but there was no feeling at all.

"I broke the mirror," I whisper.

If I broke the mirror, what else could I have done?

"Where did you last see something?" Michael asks, following my thoughts.

I point at the bed. "There. But I didn't—"

The objection dies. What can I say? I can't trust my own mind right now. I lean against the wall as Michael kneels down to examine underneath the bed. He's quiet for too long and then reaches underneath the bed.

My heart falls. He is going to pull Freddie's corpse out. And then what? Does he just take her? What happens after I come down? How do I ever go back to normal?

Michael doesn't pull anyone out of from under the bed, but his hand is gripping something. I inhale as he approaches. He unfolds his hand and a bloody clump of flesh is revealed.

"Oh shit!" I hiss.

The need to puke burns so much that I lean down. Nothing comes out, but everything spins.

I bashed her head. I killed her. She's dead.

"Jason Hill?"

"What is it? What did I do?"

Do you really want to know?

"It may not be that bad," Michael says.

"Not that bad?" I straighten up to face him. "That's—"

Hair. A few red hair strands in his hand.

"I suppose she could have gotten the hair caught on the bedframe." Michael holds up the red hairs, peering closely at them. "It doesn't necessarily mean you perpetrated an act of violence against her."

I rub my eyes, trying to assure myself that it is just hair. "She was really in here. I don't remember her in here."

He nods. "The effects of the substance are potent."

I laugh. "Understatement."

"I don't believe you'll ever remember what really happened. In fact..." Michael's words fade as he blurs and flickers.

I stumble, shake my head and see that Michael is still there.

Maybe.

"Are...are you really here?" I ask.

I'm so frustrated that I need to ask. The need to scream and bash my head into the wall is so strong and fierce, but I'm sure that if I do it, I'll know the truth. I'll knock the truth into my head.

I halfway turn to the wall, ready to do as much when Michael catches my hand. I can't feel much, but a slight pressure. But it feels more real than almost anything else.

"I am here," Michael says. "If that is worth anything."

"It's not," I say ungraciously.

He smiles. "Would you rather be alone?"

I turn away from his smile. There is no solace in a smile that doesn't reach someone's eyes. "Let's just find her," I say, shrugging off his grip. "Where else could she be? Apparently I can't trust my own eyes."

"We'll just take it step by step," Michael says.

"Easy for you to say—I can barely walk."

I look back and wish that I hadn't—his smile is wider, almost as if he is about to laugh. But no comforting human emotion slips from him. "Slow steps then."